


Distractions

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: things you said [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Big idiots, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Power Play, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: There are two different kinds of nights in Chris’ life. The ones he spends with a bottle of Whiskey, and the ones he spends with Peter. (Written for: things you said at 1am)
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: things you said [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823440
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Distractions

There are two different kinds of nights in Chris’ life. 

Most nights, he spends alone.

Alone in a house that is too big for him. Too big, too hollow. He doesn’t like opening the door after a long day, doesn’t like being greeted by dust alone.

But no matter how much Chris hates this home that doesn’t feel homey at all, he still can’t leave it. Maybe, a part of him enjoys suffering through all the memories connected to each room. 

He turns the Tv on - not to watch anything, but to hear something he can focus on. Something that distracts him. Because the worst kind of nights are those in which the silence settles in and his thoughts start to wander. 

They always end up in the same places. Guilt and regret. Self-loathing. Rage. Why couldn’t he protect the few people he cared about? Why? 

Usually, Chris finishes these nights with an empty bottle of Whiskey and a heavy head that feels like it’s wrapped up in cotton. 

In the morning, he feels like a truck hit him. 

* * *

  
  


Other nights, Peter shows up - usually at 2am - and Chris tells him _No_. But not for long. Never for long. 

He can’t. 

He can’t, because he knows what Peter wants. It is not so different from his own desire. 

But that doesn’t mean Chris can’t loathe it. That doesn't mean it doesn't make him angry. And it shows.

Once Peter manages to sneak into the house, they push and snarl at each other, fighting for dominance like actual wolves would. 

It is a bittersweet but effective kind of distraction. 

Chris pushes Peter against the wall and smothers his noise of protest with a kiss. It is not gentle. It is demanding. 

He grunts when claws dig into his arms, pin pricking the skin. The pain is short and sharp. It cuts through every possible stray thought, clearing his head. 

In return, Chris rakes blunt fingernails down Peter’s back and smirks at the gasps that follows, swallowing them in another rough kiss. 

Chris grips a handful of Peter’s hair and pulls his head back, until the wolf is forced to bare his throat to the hunter. 

Once upon a time, Chris would have been careful now. He would have pressed kisses to the exposed skin, would have relished the vibrating groans he coaxed out of the wolf.

But today, he just bites into the flesh until he tastes iron. The mark he leaves fades in seconds, but the taste in his mouth stays and he licks his lips. 

Once upon a time, he would have laid Peter on a bed. Would have been patient. 

But today, here and now, Chris pushes Peter down on his knees and tightens his grip in the wolf’s hair, leading him to where Chris wants him. Peter lets him. 

Because, this is how things are now.  
  
How they look at each other differs from day to day, depending on their mood or the happenings.

Peter killed Chris' sister, Chris' sister killed Peter’s family. There is blood between them, there is violence and unspoken hatred. Maybe even disgust. 

And yet. Somewhere underneath all the sharp edges and new barriers and self-made armours, there still is _something_. 

Something that makes them move towards each other although time made them drift apart. 

Chris runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and it is almost a caress. He still likes this. What does that make him?   
  


Peter leaves without a word when they are done, and Chris is alone with the silence again. Though, he is sated enough to fall asleep without the Whiskey. 

He falls asleep, a bitter taste in his mouth. 

* * *

One night, Peter breaks their cycle and later Chris will think that maybe, it was inevitable.

This specific night, Peter appears at 1am. 

He doesn’t laugh when Chris glares at him, doesn’t try to push past the hunter, doesn’t try to get into the house. He just stands there, looking at Chris with a strange detached expression on his face. 

Chris is confused. This is not how they play this. “What do you want?” he finally asks. 

Peter doesn’t answer for a long moment. It started to rain and a drop runs down Peter’s cheek down his chin. Chris follows it with his eyes. 

“I want to forget,” Peter eventually says quietly. If the rain was louder, Chris wouldn’t have been able to decipher the words. 

He swallows down the surprise that quickly changes into understanding. _God me too_ , he thinks, opening the door wider and letting the wolf in.

Peter walks straight to the bedroom and starts to undress. 

Chris leans against the doorframe and watches him. He sees how the pale moonlight outlines the arch of Peter’s back when he pulls off his shirt. Sees the muscles playing under his skin and the way his hair curls in his neck, now that it’s growing longer again. 

He sees things he hasn’t been paying attention to the other nights. 

Peter glances at Chris over his shoulder, a question in his eyes. 

Chris nods and undresses too. 

He shivers in the chilly air. Autumn is almost over. The air is already carrying a reminder of what is about to come: sharp cold winter nights with snow and even more silence. Those are nights one rather not spends alone … 

Peter’s hands are heavenly warm when they run along Chris’ sides almost reverently. 

Chris shivers pleasantly this time. He looks at Peter, really looks at him, at his body spread out on the bed, willingly opening up like this, and suddenly feels like he is going to choke up. Like he is overflowing with memories, with yearnings, with questions. 

He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and Peter leans into the touch with a sigh.

They look at each other, agreeing without using words. They have always been very good at communicating without syllables. 

This is so different from what they usually do. It is close to love-making. It almost hurts Chris. Hurts him with the echo of what once was and what could have been but never will be. 

Once upon a time, they laid on a bed in some motel room. Once upon a time, they kissed for eternities, just because they could, without fearing someone might walk in on them. Once upon a time, Chris opened Peter up with his fingers, swallowing his gasps in kisses and soothings. Once upon a time, they were connected in a whole new way. Once upon a time, Chris wished this wasn’t the last night they had together. Wished he could stay like this for longer than till the sun rose up. 

Once upon a time, he chose the path that led him here. 

Here and now, he makes Peter lay on his back because he wants to see everything. He wants to connect. Wants to connect with bodies, eyes and breath.

Here and now, Chris moves languidly instead of hurriedly, hoping to prolong this, because who knows if it will happen again? 

He locks his eyes with Peter’s, drowning in the brilliant blue that once captured him so abruptly. He watches as Peter’s mouth falls open and swallows his moans, when he comes between their bodies. He catches Peter breathing out his name, only once. 

“Chris …”

It is what tips him over the edge.   
  


For a moment, they are just laying there, panting, their sweat cooling on their skin. 

It is Peter who moves first without a word, sitting up and reaching for his clothes.

Chris reaches out, running his fingers down the arch of Peter’s back.

“Stay.” He surprises himself.

Peter tenses. But he slowly lays back, burying his face in a pillow. 

Chris listens to his breath, relieved there is something cutting through the silence.

He vaguely thinks about asking Peter if he thinks they could have something more stable one day. But the thought stays in his mind. This is not the right moment. Maybe, there will never be a right moment. Who knows. 

Chris silently wonders what exactly brought Peter here tonight. What made him so open. What triggered the things he wanted to forget? Did this help? Did it manage to quieten his mind? 

He has so many questions. Right now, he asks none of them. He just lays on his back and closes his eyes. 

In the morning, Peter will probably be gone, the only proof he’s been there the crumpled sheets. 

But it’s okay. 

Tomorrow, they might not stand each other’s presence at all. Tomorrow, they might snarl and growl at each other, eyes spitting venom. Or they might ignore each other, acting like this never happened. Like they didn't look into each other's eyes as if they found the answers to their questions in them. 

Chris can live with it. Has to live with it. 

Once upon a time, they were teenagers in naive love, thinking they could beat the world. 

Here and now, they are each other’s distraction. 


End file.
